When I was 18 I got so drunk that my friends thought I was going to die. I went limp, crumpled onto the floor like a discarded shirt.
As you do, in some realms of fantasy when your friend may be dying, they stripped my clothes and tossed me into the shower then set to planning.
How could they handle this? How could they keep from getting in trouble? After all, I was certainly not supposed to be drinking.
“I know!” I’m sure one of them said. “Let’s put her on the curb and call 911.”
Let it be known, my friends weren’t the most brilliant because it was January in a very north eastern state and the curb was a snow bank they could lose me in.
The rising water in the tub nearly choked me as my friends tried to wrangle my wet body. I tried to breathe but at first my lungs just wouldn’t expand.
“We thought you were dead!” Their gazes passed over my cold naked body. “We were going to leave you outside.”
“That the best idea you had?”
Drunk and nearly dead I managed to wonder if it was too late to look for new friends.